


Expenses

by narsus



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Money, Moral Ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being persuaded to sell the van, Martin attempts to make himself useful, and proves frighteningly efficient at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expenses

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure belongs to John Finnemore and BBC Radio 4.

Martin is, to Douglas’ mind anyway, overtly fond of spreadsheets. Of course, seeing as he’s ATT qualified these days that makes a certain sort of sense, but Martin has a tendency to bring his work home with him. At least, Douglas could make that argument if the multiple schedules and accounting data hadn’t come first. The ATT qualification had been Douglas’ idea, because the whole man with a van schtick had been getting old, by which he’d meant that Martin wasn’t spending nearly enough time with him, and working together didn’t count. Doulas had in fact put his foot down about keeping the wretched van. He didn’t want it, Martin didn’t need it and if Martin didn’t sell it, Douglas was bloody well going to carve out its engine and sell the damn thing for scrap. Of course he’d phrased it more diplomatically when he’d broached the subject, and Martin, being Martin, had responded with semi-incoherent blubbering that had ended up with his arms around Douglas’ neck and a breathless declaration of love. The van _was_ an eyesore and Douglas certainly didn’t like it but, if he was going to be honest with himself, he’d hated it more for what it stood for, for all the pain and degradation Martin had been forced to go through to achieve his dream. The van then, had had to go, even if that required an act of arson.

With the van gone, and Douglas supporting the pair of them, the next stage had been to find Martin something to do. For the first month or so, that something to do had been of the horizontal variety, except when it was at right angles or vertical or something else in between. But that could only last so long as a distraction. Not that they slowed up particularly. It was just that Martin started making more of a point about how much he wasn’t contributing to the household budget. So, when the weather changed, Douglas set him to doing all the DIY that Douglas really wasn’t too keen on himself. Alarmingly, not only had Martin proved to be rather good at heavy labour but he also seemed to enjoy it. It did of course work wonders for his physique but there were only so many broken things that Douglas could ask Martin to fix. The next stage then was to find something to occupy him intellectually, something that Douglas had still been pondering, when Martin had taken it upon himself to help Douglas with his accounts. That had progressed quickly enough, moving from Martin helping with the paperwork to actually handling the matter himself, and shooing Douglas out of the room while he was working. Taking up an accounting qualification had been the next logical step.

These days Douglas has very little to do with the managing of his money. He makes a note of all his expenses and hands his receipts, bills and card statements over to Martin at the end of the week. Martin then shuts himself away in the spare room, plays either Lady Gaga or Dannii Minogue very loudly, and does Douglas’ accounts. Occasionally, if it’s taking some time, Douglas will bring Martin coffee and a snack. Once or twice, he’s entered the room to hear Martin quite sternly telling someone off on the phone, admonishing them that ‘Mr Richardson doesn’t have time for basic accounting mistakes’. Douglas has, so he recalls, three accounts. One is the usual, run of the mill, affair, another is an extremely secure savings account, and the third is a somewhat risky affair that depends entirely on the state of the stock market at any given time. Once upon a time, Douglas even had a fund manager. These days Martin runs that account personally. Douglas isn’t even sure if that’s legal, but he supposes it must be, what with Martin actually having an accounting qualification these days. Martin is surprisingly good at managing other people’s money after all.

Other than Douglas, Martin does have other clients. A handful. All of them very polite, very professional and discreet to the point of suspicion. They tend to send couriers, with locked briefcases that only Martin and the client know the combination to. The first time the black car had pulled at the airfield, Douglas had seriously considered calling security, especially when the smartly dressed woman, flanked by two dark suited men, had announced that she had business with ‘Mr Crieff’ in a decidedly chilling fashion. They’re all mostly like that and since Martin doesn’t seem particularly phased by any of it, Douglas has no choice but to accept things as they are. They may all be perfectly legitimate clients after all. Douglas has no idea who they are so he’s in no position to cast aspersions. Even if the pale, curly haired, young man, who’d hopped off the back of a motorbike on one occasion, had offered a sneering apology that his brother’s ‘consigliere’ couldn’t make it that day.

Martin does well at any rate. He has a sensibly sized client base that pay him well enough, for a job that he can fit around flying. He manages the household budget and, these days, even controls Douglas’ frivolous expenditure. At the end of each month, Douglas brings up any possible additional expenditure that he might make for the next month and Martin adjusts his ‘allowance’ accordingly. Some months he simply refuses to compensate for certain possible expenditures. Douglas accepts it all, rather graciously, so he thinks. Even right down to the month where he’d found that not only had one credit card been maxed out, due to a lowered limit, but that the bank itself had refused to lift the bar without either the correct signed documents from himself, or verbal authorisation from his accountant, Mr Crieff. Douglas doesn’t attempt those sorts of tricks anymore, because it’s far easier to just tell Martin that he wants to blow an extra few hundred on a few pairs of shoes next week, than have to go running across the airport and ask Martin to speak to the bank to authorise it on the spot.

At some point everything has changed. Douglas has gone from having complete control over their arrangements to having very little at all. In fact, when he thinks about it, Martin actually controls all of his finances, to a dangerous degree. Martin could very easily take Douglas for everything he’s worth. It’s a frightening thought with genuine potential. Douglas does trust Martin, does, when he’ll admit to it, genuinely love him, but to find that this is the end result of all his manoeuvres is particularly frightening. Especially for a man who’s been divorced three times already. So it’s not really too bad, not really a slight against their relationship, when Douglas makes arrangements to see a lawyer. He just needs to get things straightened out, for the sake of his own peace of mind. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Except his old lawyers give him the run around, and work and the world conspire against him, until he finally manages to secure an appointment with a decently prestigious law firm in central Bristol.

When the day comes, he doesn’t tell Martin about it. Just makes some excuse about going out to see someone, hinting that it’s just an old friend. Martin is guileless at least, and Douglas feels a twinge of guilt at Martin’s bright smile and cheerful goodbye. It makes him question the validity of his own fears, even as he closes the door on the happily domestic scene of Martin washing the dishes. But the appointment’s been made anyway, even if he is leaving the house before lunch, for an appointment that’s not for a few hours. It will take something like a half an hour at most, accounting for the traffic, to get into the city centre, so he parks at the train station and resolves to get himself a sandwich to settle his stomach. He feels furtive even as he sits down to lunch in the little cafe. Of course, he’s not doing anything wrong. He has every right to check up on just how far Martin’s control extends over his finances. They are _his_ finances after all. It’s not that he’s worried about Martin running off with all his money. Martin isn’t some vindictive ex-wife after all. It’s not as if he has any reason to be bitter, especially about anything that Douglas has done. None of which explains why the sandwich tastes like cardboard in Douglas’ dry mouth.

Finally, almost three hours later, Douglas stands in front of the receptionist’s desk, far more nervous than he’d ever let on. The lawyer that he’s meant to see has been called away and he’s now scheduled to see somebody else. It’s a minor inconvenience but it raises the hairs on the back of his neck anyway. What he’s doing isn’t illegal. He isn’t guilty of anything. There is absolutely no reason for him to worry. Then he hears a familiar voice from the hallway, and turns to see Martin and another man, who looks remarkably like him, entering the offices.

“Mr Crieff, your two o’clock appointment.” The receptionist indicates Douglas and then goes back to her work.  
“Mr Richardson, a pleasure to meet you.” The man smiles, and steps forward, hand extended. “I’m Simon Crieff. I’ll be handling your case.”

Martin stands quietly behind his brother and smiles, just as guilelessly as he had earlier. Douglas feels his stomach turn, but musters up a weak smile in response, knowing that he must look like a man going to his own funeral as he lets Simon Crieff lead him away. It’s certainly how he feels, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be cameos by two characters from another fandom I write for here.  
> Consigliere is a term that has rather distinct organised crime conations.  
> Filton is about a 15 minute drive from central Bristol, so I’m using that as an approximation of Fitton.  
> Bonapartes is located in Bristol Temple Meads station and isn’t a particularly bad place to sit down and have a snack.


End file.
